Songs Of Prometheus

there will be a baby crying

in the next room, but not yet

people are still standing around

my bed and I’m still on my last breaths

they won’t leave until I have gone

a brown leaf about to fall


I remember the white foam of waves

not rampaging bulls in Spanish streets

but subtle colourings of children’s books

gently paging in rippling tides by bare feet

sand on toes in fizziness

those waves, they kept on repeating


some are probably praying

others counting along with the clock

they stand around my bed

some I want to leave, others I want to stay with

I’ve done the fighting, I’ve done the pleading

cue the baby in the next room

◄ Shamaness

Myre’s Mire ►


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Clive Culverhouse

Fri 23rd Oct 2020 13:49

Thanks for taking the time to comment Keith, thanks for your kind words.

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keith jeffries

Fri 23rd Oct 2020 11:33


This poem has a quality all of its own as you use the language in an almost exquisite way. "Sand on toes in fizziness", " they wont leave until I have gone a brown leaf about to fall". A superb piece of writing.
Thank you for this


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